The next morning, despite Senemoro’s vehement objections, they left for the Grandmother’s compound, which was in the next village. When they arrived, they found the old woman sitting all alone in an empty compound. She was busy with her knitting but put down her needles when she saw her daughter and smiled warmly.
“O, how wonderful,” she cried. “Another child for me to take care of!” Then she went up to her new grandson, squatted down in front of him, and asked him his name. “I’m Senemoro,” he said. “And I know what you are.” The Grandmother just grinned at him, though, and turned to her daughter, who was gazing around the compound, as if looking for something. “Mother, where is Mo-Lamin?” asked the daughter. “And where is Isatou? and Ansumana? and Binta? and Kumba? Where are all my children?” “O, dear me,” said the Grandmother, “they’ve all just gone out. Mo-Lamin and Ansu and the other boys have gone to the bush to collect firewood, and the girls are at the well, doing laundry.” “Well, I think I shall wait for them to return,” said the mother. “It has been many years since I have seen them.” “But, my dear, you have a newborn to look after,” said the Grandmother. “And there’s no telling when the children may return. Go home. You are still young and fertile—it will not be long before you return again.” So the lazy mother got up, kissed Senemoro on the forehead, and disappeared. Senemoro was alone with the beast. He looked her in the eyes and waited, but she said nothing. Instead, she beckoned him with her hand and led him off to his room. It was a great square room in the middle of the house, with three massive beds, each neatly made. |
“Dinner’s at sunset,” said the Grandmother from the hallway. Then she closed and locked the door. Senemoro looked around the room—it was spotless. There were no clothes lying around, no crumbs on the ground. It seemed as if no one had lived there for many moons.
Immediately, Senemoro began looking around for a way out. Other than the two doors, which were both locked, there was only one—a small window on the back wall with bars across it. Senemoro went to it and examined it, and it looked as if he might be able to slip through them. So he grabbed a chair, climbed onto it, and slipped out the window. Senemoro was now standing in an enclosed porch. The gate out to the yard was padlocked, and the bars were too close to slip through. But there was another door—leading back into the house. Senemoro tried the handle and it opened without complaint. It was his Grandmother’s bedroom. He hurried for the other door and put his fingers to the handle, but then he heard something coming down the hallway. Senemoro jumped back and dove under the bed just as the door opened. From where he was, he could see his grandmother come into the room and take off her headwrap and shirt. Then the old woman threw herself onto the bed and settled in. Senemoro lay dead still for what felt an eternity, till at last he heard the heavy rattle of his Grandmother’s snores. Slowly, silently, Senemoro slipped his slender body out from under the bed, but in doing so ran into a large pan and, beside it, a sharp knife. Senemoro grabbed the knife and was about to move on when his curiosity got the best of him: lifting his head up over the rim, he peered inside the pan. What he saw sent him reeling, and his head went flying up into the mattress! The Grandmother stirred, and Senemoro put his hand to his mouth to keep the screams in. The devilish woman grumbled to herself, then swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Senemoro didn’t breathe. Then she stood up and walked out the room, this time locking the door behind her. Senemoro scuttled out from under the bed, reached under it, and dragged the pan out. It was a bucket full of heads—children’s heads! He looked closer at the grotesque faces and saw his lips, his nose, his ears. He had found his brothers and sisters—his Grandmother had eaten them! |